


Why Saturdays effin' suck

by Mr_Walrus



Category: Reno: 911!
Genre: Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Offensive, vulgar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:31:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Walrus/pseuds/Mr_Walrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. </p><p>Or why this one particular Saturday was Satan Incarnate for Deputy Junior and why he was going to shoot Lieutenant Dangle one of these days. Metaphorically, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Saturdays effin' suck

**Author's Note:**

> I had a very, very high fever when I wrote this and had been stuck at home for several days with my Reno 911 series boxset being my only company. I apologize for everything, but ill me would have wanted me to post this and to be honest, over the years I have grown gradually more disappointed that there isn't more r34 of this show. Cops literally has more r34 and it doesn't even have a major reoccurring cast! 
> 
> Takes place pre-s3 on the timeline, I've always loved the original cast and seasons 1 and 2 will always be dear to me since those are now traditional for me to watch when I'm off-work sick at home.
> 
> Also, this contains a lot of homophobic language and vulgarity and racism and is overall an offensive work. But uh, if you liked the show I doubt you'll actually be offended. But I mean, if that stuff hits your fanny in the wrong way, turn back.
> 
> Proceed at your own risk, seriously. 
> 
> 100% definitely the worst thing I've ever written. Okay not 100%, maybe 75? 65? 
> 
> Who knows. Uh, enjoy if you can.

Saturdays fucking suck. 

And yeah, while Travis might not be the most eloquent guy on the Reno police force, he was pretty goddamned sure that there was no other way to describe it. At least during the weekdays, most of the juveniles actually attended school (which he still found hard to believe) and the usual suspects were busy trying to keep their shitty dead-end jobs. Even Fridays had the redeeming quality of most people being either too tired to break the law or too shit-faced to get out of bed. Sundays were pretty relaxing too, even the johns and hoes down at The Chicken Hole respected the Sabbath enough not to cause any trouble. 

But Saturdays, fucking Saturdays, were the absolute goddamn worst. Underaged punks were free to do as they pleased, which meant a lot of coke, pot, and spray-painted dicks. T.T. always seemed to be extra batshit on Saturdays, not to mention that Saturday morning was when Crazy Mike got even more hopped up on his meth cocktails than usual. Shit, if the subject was on the shititude of Saturdays, he could probably out-talk Weigel, Dangle, and Williams combined. Which was saying a lot, literally. 

Then this Saturday happened, this Saturday which happened to rise to the top of Mount Ass Weekend and crown itself the fucking shit king of shittastic Saturdays in a giant clusterfuck singularity of shittiness. Okay, first of all, who the fuck thought that it’d be a good idea to tell Crazy Mike that mixing ammonia and bleach would boost his high? And who was the dumbass Walmart employee who saw him take all the bleach and ammonia in stock and let him dump it in a pool display? Not to mention all the people who just stood by and watched as Mike continued to take an fuckton of crystal meth and skinny dip in said pool. Then T.T. called about squinty-eyed giants stealing her dogs. Thinking, hey, usual T.T., Travis went down right after the Walmart incident thinking that he was lucky that he didn’t have to deal with the strike at the whorehouse. But when he got out of the car, the woman decided to show off her newly revealed football talents and charged him like a rabid AIDS-infested horny buffalo on the African Savannah. Metaphorically, of course. But getting a faceful of giant tit was definitely more distressing than Travis thought it’d be in his nightly self-TLC sessions, especially when it was accompanied by angry woman noises. 

So while he was busy recovering from being rammed, he heard Jones calling for backup with the brothel situation. Who knew prostitutes were just as resourceful outside of bed? And T.T. had stomped off in her usual stupor, so Travis took full advantage of the situation and got the hell out of dodge, only to be met with yet another Carrot Top situation. Just replace angry unfunny comedian with hoes wearing sweaters that could double as burkas and hotel furniture with sex toys. He asked what the shit had happened and, as usual, only Weigel replied and, as usual, she made no goddamned sense. The blow-up sex doll he and Johnson were holding up wasn’t much in the way of cover, so they had pretty much nothing to protect themselves from the rain of butt plugs, vibrators, and nipple clamps. 

That situation took about three hours to resolve, finally ending with Dangle being sent up to negotiate. Travis had no idea who thought that Dangle would be a good negotiator, but he apparently settled the issue with his infinite sex worker knowledge and the flood of lubed-up dildoes gradually stopped. 

After that, Travis went home. 

Note that “went home” was his default response when asked why he randomly ditched in the middle of duty. It was actually code for two possible things. One being that he actually did go home and proceeded to jack off till he thought his dick was about to fall off, or two being that he wandered off somewhere and got wasted as shit and/or occasionally, high as a goddamn kite. And today was a day for option dos. He had seen enough of grossly oversized tits and sex toys to last… eh, probably till tomorrow’s morning wood. 

He was tempted to cover Dangle’s bike in the pina colada-scented lube the prostitutes threw off the balcony, but decided to just dump it into a dumpster filled with used condoms. He got in his squad car and drove off. If he ever found out who was supposed to be checking the cars’ gas mileage and consistently neglected this duty, he would give them a pat on the back. 

Travis turned left and right on his gut feelings, maybe abusing his siren on the way, and found a suitably slummy shithole that perfectly suited this kind of Saturday. He drove past it a few blocks, pulled over into a dark corner of some apartment complex’s outdoor parking lot, and slammed the door shut with a lot more force than was probably necessary. Fuck it, he was tired and in a bad mood (breathing in toxic gases for an hour and a half tended to cause that) and dammit, he was going to share it with the world. One quick whiff of the air and even from this distance, he could tell he chose well. There was no mistaking that smell of shit, alcohol, and something gone horribly rancid. And was that a slight hint of sweat and jizz? Abso-fucking perfect. The stench got stronger as he walked down the street, and the foul liquor part of it seemed like a punch to his nostrils when he opened the door. It was nearly overwhelming when he stepped up to the counter, which was a good thing, so he showed off his badge hoping for a discount, even putting in a few mentions of a nonexistent investigation to add some more persuasion, and sat back, muttering the first beverage that popped into his head.

Looking around, Travis was disappointed in that he hadn’t picked a place with some eye candy. Almost everyone in there had the same look, the tired zoned-out look that Weigel occasionally got when she stared off into the distance for too long. But they had it perpetually, which was kinda creepy. Also no nice asses or racks. That was the worst bit. His whatever was slammed down in front of him, he had already forgotten what he asked for. He nodded towards the server, who was either a man with very defined moobs or a woman with a very hairy upper lip. But whatever, common courtesy shit. He was about to sip the mystery drink and hopefully remember what the hell it was when-

“Oh hey Junior, fancy meetin’ you here.” 

Travis choked on his drink, which was watered-down piss-quality beer. Lieutenant Dangle didn’t seem to notice, since he just pulled a seat right up and ordered a margarita. Travis cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah,” he looked around again, no rainbow flags, no man-on-man, no leather. Okay, so he hadn’t accidentally wandered into the local queer watering hole. That left one thing, “is Jones here?” 

Dangle raised his eyebrows dramatically and looked around, “I don’t think so, I mean, d’you see him?”

“No, jus’ thought I’d ask.” 

“Mmm,” a sickly green margarita served in a plastic pepsi cup got smacked onto the counter, Dangle quickly muttered thanks before asking, “So, do you come here often?” 

An alarm went off in Travis’s head, but then he remembered that this was Dangle, flamboyant, kinda stalkerish on everyone, Lieutenant Dangle who definitely had the hots for Officer Jones. It was probably just his natural tendency to keep track of everyone talking, it just sounded flirty because it was being run through the gay filter. Which made sense. Kind of. 

“Nope, jus’ thought I’d try it out. Y’know, long day and all, thought I’d unwind a bit before headin’ home,” he chugged half of his alcoholic pisswater and forced it down. 

Dangle grunted agreeably and drank from his own plastic cup. Travis looked away, pretending to be interested in the golf game playing on the shitty box television so that his superior would leave and follow someone else for a change. Ugh, why didn’t he lube up his bike when he had the chance? 

He looked back when he heard the lieutenant retch, but Dangle gave him a thumbs up and swallowed the shifty margarita forcefully. 

“Mmm, you have got to try this,” he said, holding the cup out to Travis. The deputy discretely shifted away. 

“No, uh, thanks for the offer, but no.”

“This is the best margarita I have ever had. Go ahead, jus’ a sip.” 

Travis suddenly remembered Jones talking about Dangle’s attempted seduction with margaritas and U-Haul. The other cop never actually finished the story, but Travis was about 95% sure that it probably didn’t end with anyone’s dick up anyone’s ass. And no U-Haul wagons had been brought in yet, so he was still in the hetero-safety zone. 

But still, sharing a drink was pretty gay. Especially if it was a fucking margarita with Dangle. So Travis said, “I’m not a margarita kinda guy,” and left it at that. 

Dangle didn’t seem offended, he just cleared his throat and set the plastic cup off to the side. He glanced around and started humming an annoying tune under his breath.

Travis ignored it though, and turned his attention back to the golf game. He gulped down some more of his drink, mostly in an attempt to look casual. 

“Busy day, huh?" Asked Dangle.

He snorted, "Shit dude, you can say that again." 

"Didja get that Walmart situation all sorted out?" 

"Yeah, last I saw Mike was passed out in a shoppin' cart." 

"And the Mexican?" 

"Left when people started fallin' over." 

Dangle nodded, "and what went wrong with T.T.?" He elaborated at Travis’s suspicious expression, "Williams and Johnson responded to another call from her."

"She charged me like fucking Reggie White. Then I got Jones’s call ‘bout the hoes. Nice job dealin’ with that, by the way.”

The lieutenant shrugged and reached for his margarita before deciding against it. “All in a day’s work, y’know.” 

Dangle’s overly-casual tone was starting to annoying Travis. Like he was trying to hide something by acting even more camp than usual. Shit, Terry did that too, was that just a natural queer thing?  
Fuck it, Travis wasn’t going to let it work. Ain’t nothing going to be buried under miles of gay on his watch. 

“Is there somethin’ you wanna say to me, Dangle?” 

“What?” his face was equal parts badly acted innocence and surprise, “No, no, ‘course not. Jus’, y’know, havin’ a friendly drink, and stuff.” 

“Yeah, sure, uh,” Travis looked around again, “Y’sure Jones ain’t here?” 

“He’s respondin’ to a public disturbance call with Garcia, or, well he should be,” Dangle went back to anxiously humming that goddamned tune.

“Then the fuck you doin’ here?” Dangle went to say some bullshit about coming round often, but Travis interrupted, “There ain’t no way you’ve been here before, else you wouldn’t be drinkin’ that fuckin’ sewage.” 

The lieutenant looked genuinely offended, and he grabbed his margarita and downed the whole thing, shit-looking gunk at the bottom too. He gagged a few times, but gave a thumbs up and forced a squinty-eyed smile. Moments later, Dangle retched again. 

Travis was certain he was looking pretty smug by now. But his superior made an exaggerated “Mmm,” noise like he hadn’t just almost vomited. “Best margarita ever, jus’ can’t get enough.” 

The deputy shook his head and went back to trying to ignore Dangle. Time with him was hit and miss, either being genuinely fun or really creepy and annoying. This was already deep into the latter. 

“Gee, it’s gettin’ hot in here isn’t it?” said Dangle. 

It really wasn’t, and Travis was the one wearing a vest and actual pants. He looked over again, missing the asian golfer dude’s swing (not that he really cared). In some shitty chi-nee rip-off imitation of Clemmy, Dangle had unbuttoned his uniform to show off non-existent cleavage. 

And that was a giant ass leap out of the straight/gay DMZ into Travis’s “I’m fucking done with your bullshit” zone. 

“Dammit Dangle!” 

Travis borderline-jumped off the barstool and flashed his badge again when the hairy woman/moobed man started to protest about payment. Dangle sputtered some nonsense and ended up showing his badge too and following the younger cop. 

“Junior! Come on Junior, oh for fuck’s sake, Junior where d’you think you’re goin’!?” 

Without slowing down, Travis turned around and flipped Dangle the double bird. 

“Hey, guess what? I ain’t a fag!” 

“I know that, jus’ let me say somethin’!” 

“Too bad Dangle! I don’t wanna hear it,” Travis turned again and kept walking back to the squad car. Dammit, why didn’t he stay home and just jerk off to Big Booty Bitches IV? Hey, ignorance was bliss when it came to this sorta shit. If he saw Dangle staring at his ass, he’d prefer to give the lieutenant the benefit of the doubt and shrug it off. But nope, too fucking late, he’d keep a tight grip on everything at the station from this moment on. 

“The fuck I’d do!?” Dangle broke into a short sprint and caught up to Travis, “Was I comin’ on too strong or what!?” 

“Jesus Christ, just shut the hell up.” 

“First everyone’s sayin’ I ain’t comin’ on strong enough, next Jones says I’m comin’ on too strong, the fuck am I supposed to do!?” 

“How ‘bout you just stop fuckin’ hittin’ on straight men!? Go bug someone who likes havin’ shit shoved up their ass, shit dude, it ain’t that hard to get.” 

Travis heard Dangle mutter a few apologies, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Saturdays were shit enough without being guilt trip into pity-fucking the lieutenant and ruining his perfect record of straightness. 

“I get the point, goddammit, I’m a dick for not letting you suck my dick, go cry about it to Weigel or somethin’.”

The squad car was still at its spot, windows all intact (which almost counted as a miracle in Travis’s book). Dangle was still blubbering excuses, another thing Jones mentioned him doing during their moving-day adventure, and there was no fucking way Travis was going to try and talk to him again, so he just got in the squad car and hoped that Dangle would get out of the way long enough for him to pull out. 

But the lieutenant started knocking on the driverside window and saying something, so Travis decided, fuck it, give him one more chance and rolled down the window. 

“How ‘bout just a handie?” 

Travis rolled the window back up.

Then unlocked the passenger side door and gestured for Dangle to get in. Straight record be damned, he wasn’t a man to say no to a handjob from anyone. Okay that wasn’t true, he wasn’t going to let Weigel get her hands anywhere near his dick, or Mike, or, well who the fuck cared? And handjobs were definitely pretty low on the gay scale, and it wasn’t like it was much different from jerking it himself. Okay, it was pretty different, but it wasn’t like Dangle was gonna leave him alone if he kept saying no and- now he was just starting to make excuses for getting off which was plain old fucking stupid. 

Anyways, what happened on Saturdays, stayed on Saturdays. Or something. 

So Dangle got in the car, face lit up like a fat kid in a candy store, and pretty much immediately reached over for Travis’s crotch. But fuck that, if a forty-something year old fairy was gonna get his hands on his dick it was going to be one-hundred percent on Travis’s terms. He pressed himself against the window and held his hands up, which got the message across to Lieutenant Dangle. 

“Let’s jus’ get this outta the way,” said Travis, “I ain’t a queer, this is jus’ a handie between friends, and we will never speak of this again. ‘Aight?” 

Dangle nodded, “Alright, got it.” 

Travis lowered his hands and sat back against the seat, aggressively staring at the ceiling where there was definitely no chance of accidental eye contact. His breath hitched a bit when Dangle unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, which was nothing compared to when his hands actually got on Travis’s dick. 

“You alright Junior? Bit jumpy ain’t you?” 

“I’m fine, jus’ don’t, uh, don’t say anythin’ else.” 

He saw Dangle shrug from the corner of his vision. The lieutenant pulled his dick out from his underwear, then took his hands away, which made Travis look down and see him take a tube of lube from his pocket and squirt it on his hand.

“Them girls were pretty generous,” chuckled Dangle, grabbing the younger officer’s dick with his lubed-up hand and setting his other hand on Travis’s thigh. “Sorry, not another peep from me.” 

But after what felt like five minutes of Dangle gently rubbing and massaging his dick, which was still floppier than an overcooked spaghetti noodle, Travis started to regret the no-talking rule. It wasn’t that the lieutenant was bad, it was obvious he had twenty-plus years of experience creeping on men, but that didn’t really change the fact that he was a dude and Travis wasn’t some fag. Shit, he had no idea that having another person’s hand on your dick could be so fucking awkward. 

“So, uh, you watch NASCAR?” 

Dangle made a noise between a choke and a snort. 

“No, I, uh, nope,” the lieutenant replied. Travis was pretty glad that he wasn’t the only one who felt uncomfortable. “I thought you said no talkin’.” 

“Uh, yep, it’s jus’ that, uh, is there like anythin’ specific I’m supposed to be doin’? Y’know, while you,” Travis clicked his tongue. 

“Gettin’ hard would be nice.” 

“Well I’m not exactly lyin’ here tryin’ not to,” and dammit, that was the truth. But no matter how many scenes from Hoes Down Under and GhostFuckers he recalled, he was still left with a limp-ass dick. 

“Well, what if I, uh, I touch your ass?” 

Travis shot him a look and firmly shook his head. 

“Should I try out my Weigel impersonation?” 

“Appendectomies are not sexy, Dangle. Y’know what, maybe, les’ just stop. This was a bad idea,” Travis grabbed the lieutenant’s wrist with one hand and pushed him away with the other.

“Wait, wait, what if I, jus’ hear me out, Junior, what if I blew you?” 

Dangle sounded so sincere about it that Travis actually considered it. But that was how things like this always went, wasn’t it. First it’s a friendly handie, then it’s a blowjob, then maybe a fuck here and there, and before he knew it, Travis Junior and Jim Dangle were going to be the local queer cum dumpsters, and fuck no. He remembered the poor lil’ mormon kid, what remained after he was literally fucked to death and how his face was forever stuck performing oral sex on some invisible asshole and, shit this was fucked up. 

“Get outta the car, Lieutenant.”

But Dangle just stared at him and, dammit, the lieutenant was his friend, they’d done stupid shit together for years. This was just another stupid thing. Travis let go of him and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to get his dick sucked by another man. 

“Jus’ this, okay? You got that?” 

“Yep, don’t worry, I got it,” Dangle flashed the OK sign with his fingers. 

“There’s goin’ to be no assfuckin’ on my watch, we clear?” 

“Like glass, don’t worry Junior, I got this.” 

Travis quickly looked out the windows, the lot wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t exactly stuffed either. And fuck it, if they got caught, who was going to bust them? They were the cops here dammit. 

So he looked back to the roof. Dangle was already bent over, his half-unbuttoned uniform hanging low and his shorts hiked up even further than usual. Which was even more than Travis wanted to ever see. He had his left hand on the door handle, prepared to bail, y’know, just in case. He had no fucking clue where to put his right. If it were a chick he’d probably set it on her head, but that was edging even further into gay territory, so he settled for setting it on Dangle’s back. 

Both of the lieutenant’s hands were on his dick, which still didn’t feel nice nor bad, it just felt like what it was, hands on his dick. Then Dangle stuck his tongue out and licked the tip, which was the first thing that actually felt nice. He did it again, and again, even starting to move his hands a bit to encourage Travis’s growing boner. The deputy clenched his fists, getting a handful of uniform in his right hand. That seemed to motivate Dangle since he groaned and took the tip and then some into his mouth. Travis could feel the lieutenant’s moustache tickle his cock, which felt a million times better than it should have. So he wasn’t really thinking when he exhaled and looked down at Dangle’s head in his crotch, which was a mistake since, shit, goddammit, this was so fucking gay. But it felt nice too, hell, Dangle easily beat any chick that’d blown Travis before in the oral department. Which was fucked up and left him with a nasty feeling under the horniness. 

But Dangle took a bit more into his mouth, which was a pretty damn fine distraction. Travis moved his left hand away from the door and onto the lieutenant’s head, rubbing circles into his back with his other hand. He probably wouldn’t even need to mentally replay those Korean cartoons he found the other day to get off. Which was equally great and not-so great. 

And dammit, he didn’t want to think about that. Seriously, he had a mouth on his dick and he was worrying about shit like that. So he pushed Dangle down a bit lower, which the lieutenant obviously had no issue with since he started sucking and licking even more enthusiastically. Which was impressive, and felt fucking awesome. So he pushed his superior’s head down as far as Dangle would let him, which was balls deep into his mouth, and that was, uh, pretty great. Travis could feel his moustache through his pubes and his nose and hands against his thighs, and that had no right being as exciting as it was. So he couldn’t exactly help the little upward thrust he did. But Dangle didn’t seem to see that way, since he gagged and jerked away, and Travis felt like kind of a dick using both hands to hold him down, but Dangle was the one who talked him into this, and for a part of him, that was all the justification he needed to start face-fucking the lieutenant. 

Dangle struggled, trying to push himself away, but he didn’t have much leverage bent over in a car seat, which worked just fine for Travis. But it didn’t last long since he came embarrassingly soon after, holding his superior down as he fucked his mouth through his climax. 

And holy shit.  
That was a dick move, but worst of all, it was fucking gay. Travis pulled his hands away, and the lieutenant pushed himself back up, coughing and wiping jizz away from his nose and mouth. Travis shoved his dick back into his pants and zipped his fly back up in a hurry.

“I’m not queer.” 

Dangle cleared his throat and shook his head, “Nope, not gay.” 

Someone knocked on Travis’s window, which made him jump and almost piss himself. 

“Dammit, dammit,” the deputy quickly turned to Dangle, “Not a word ‘bout all this, got it?”

The lieutenant nodded. Travis rolled down the window and waved as casually as possible to officer Garcia and Johnson.

“Uh, Lieutenant Dangle and I jus’ thought we’d check out somethin’.” 

“Yeah, but it’s all fine, jus’ some folks goofin’ about,” Dangle leaned over and added. The two officers looked doubtful. 

“That’s funny, y’know, ‘cause we got a call ‘bout the same damn thing. Two folks in a cop car, uh, how’d you put it, ‘goofin’ around,” said Garcia. 

“Don’t try to hide it, I can smell the jizz from here,” Clemmy leaned closer to the window, “and Dangle? Your shirt’s unbuttoned.” 

Travis looked to the lieutenant. Dangle had an apologetic expression and mouthed, “sorry,” as he shrugged and buttoned his shirt back up. 

“Dammit, I think I’ve seen it all now,” muttered Garcia. 

“Jus’ uh, don’t tell anyone else down at the station,” said Travis, but he knew the chances of them keeping quiet were slimmer than a heroin junkie.  
“Well, if it makes y’all feel better, I’m all for freedom of sexual expression,” said Clemmy. 

“Wait, uh, les’ just get this outta the way,” Travis gestured towards himself, “I ain’t no queer, really.” 

“Junior, you jus’ got caught red-handed doin’ the nasty with Lieutenant Dangle. There’s not a lotta leeway here,” said Garcia. 

Dangle leaned over again and said, “To be fair, it was jus’ a BJ-”

“Dammit Dangle! Y’know what, jus’, jus’ get out, I’m leavin’.” 

“Okay, okay, I’m goin’, I’m goin’.”

As soon as Dangle shut the car door, Travis pulled out and sped out of the lot, running over several plants as he drove over the sidewalk. He turned the siren on when he turned the corner because fuck traffic laws. It was a goddamn Saturday. 

 

“Hey, Dangle,” Clementine pointed towards the front of his non-regulation compliant shorts. “You gotta lil’ wet spot there.” 

“Yep, I know.” 

Garcia shook his head in disgust.

**Author's Note:**

> Most blatant errors are actually intentional unless they're spelling or grammar or continuity. As I said, I wrote this while I was sick.
> 
> Thanks for reading though!


End file.
